The curtain is drawn back upon
what seems to be -
an empty stage.
But a closer look – crucial speculation
a world is revealed.
Flecks of dust, upon the worked,
wooden floor
(worn away in certain spots)
where the soul of existence lies;
deeply embedded into the harsh
grain of the wooden floor.
A universe of slow revolving
dwarfs and ever orbiting gaseous orbs.
Yet the existence of life -
flecks of slow moving bacterium
or a single self-sufficient cell
unknown to the awakening sun,
the rising spot light of the theater -
drawn 'round, and centered upon her floor -
blazing reflection of those who have danced
upon her surface.
Forever remaining to show those
who will -
embrace all existence.
Author notes
This was just for a creative writing (a class at my school) piece. The title had to be Morning In..... and then we did the rest.
I ended up being the only one in the class that wrote a poem. 
Be honest here.
Comments
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All the worlds a stage lass...
This just came in on such a great angle ....
Old ghosts live where passion plays.......
It's a cleaver take on the power of performance....
The many spirits of theater and stage.....
So much magic here lass.....
so much.....
Great work.
Peace always
my sister,
Lowell
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spectacular piece. I love this visual I got of walking onto a stage in the morning and seeing the impact of past lives. Someone once told me we die every night and are reborn in the morning. This piece is full of strong visuals and I can tell that you picked your words with care. Congrats on a great piece!
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